


The Perks of Being an Ezur Lai

by Moiray18



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiray18/pseuds/Moiray18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wonders why it feels so right to hold this stranger’s hand like she’s known him her entire life. [Linctavia after 1x08].</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perks of Being an Ezur Lai

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where it was just Octavia in the 1x02 butterfly scene .

She read enough books back in the Sky to know that Earth animals were supposed to shy away from humans.

The little gray bird in her hand is anything but shy, watching her with curious black eyes, tickling the skin of her palm with each tiny, overexcited bounce. Octavia can read the colors of the sky now, the familiar glint of the sun about to sink below horizon, and she tries to resist the throbbing anxiety in her stomach as she realizes that the day nearly is over.

She knows it is dangerous for him to come back but she needs to know that he is all right – alive somewhere in this frightened, worn-out, distrustful world.

“I can’t stay much longer,” she says to her little companion. “My brother would totally freak out. I promise I’ll come back tomorrow.”

The bird gives out a short chirping sound, bouncing on its little feet and then freezes for a fraction of a second before taking off, startled by an unexpected presence. Octavia’s heart breaks into a frantic beat as she takes in the dark figure at the edge of the clearing, too large, too quiet for any of the people from her ship.

“Lincoln?” she whispers, stumbling to her feet to make out his face in the shadows.

He’s taller than she remembers him, and a little more intimidating, now that he’s not wearing their Sky clothes anymore. They awkwardly stops a few inches apart, and she stumbles back a little and reaches for his hand, tracing the scrap of a bandage with her fingers.

“Is it any better?”

“It’ll heal now,” he says, taking her hand more firmly in his. “I thought they wouldn’t let you come.”

“I snuck out, actually.”

“Did they hurt you?”

She frowns in confusion. “You mean Bellamy? No, he would never …” She shakes her head, trying to make sense of his words, and then almost wishing she hadn’t.

“Is that what your people would do? If you helped me escape?” It hurts a little to swallow around the lump in her throat. “If they knew you saved my life?”

He nods reluctantly, and for the first time, Octavia drops her brave, seventeen-year-old eyes to the ground, and doesn’t know what to say. She can feel Lincoln’s gaze at her face, hear his slow, even breath – both patient, both wanting – and she decides that maybe there’s nothing left to say.

Her breath falters as she raises her eyes to meet his, the left one still a little swollen; and the Earth, frightened, worn-out, distrustful and lovely, spins under her feet as he wraps his arms around her, stroking her burning cheeks and bending down to kiss her.

He smells like Earth, she wonders as she clumsily returns the kisses, like soil and the bark of spruce trees, and the woods in the morning after rain. Like all the things out there that remain to be seen and touched and lived. She takes the last half-step to close the distance between them, feels her small, virginal breasts harden at the touch, and the responding groan in his throat sends a shiver down her spine. Lincoln’s hands tighten around her waist, and she feels his tongue on her lips, in her mouth, nudging, exploring, until she joins him in that simple, playful celebration of being.

She’s never felt so alive, never so connected to another human being in her life.

It’s easier to look into Lincoln’s eyes now that they’re both out of breath and words alike, to touch his skin, the bridge of his nose, the smiling corners of his mouth, to trace the images tattooed on his skin with her fingers and ask about them with nothing but her eyes – a series of firsts, a history engraved in his flesh.

She frowns at the black spiral stretching across his neck, his first winter survived outside village. “Why would they even make you do that?”

“To make us strong,” he explains, smiling at her outraged expression.

“By sending you to die?”

He shakes his head. “Pain is part of life, it’s how we grow and survive.”

“How-…”

“When you run for your life, your muscles are in pain because they are becoming stronger. Your body burns in fever to fight off a sickness and grows stronger in response.” He pauses for a second and his eyes grow softer. “You will have your children in pain but that is how your bloodline goes on.”

Octavia feels the warmth filling her cheeks but there’s something else, a strange solemnity in that moment, in the way he said _you will_ , like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The image of her mother floats into her mind, dead-pale, cold, sucked in by the vastness of space; the way she often saw her in her nightmares, the way she sometimes still does.

And perhaps for the first time in her life, she truly realizes the miracle of her own existence – the fact she did survive, against the laws of the Arc, against all the odds, because her mother – whether out of love or some primal instinct to protect her bloodline – was stronger than all of them.

She’s fighting back the tears, afraid that he might misinterpret her sadness.

_I’ll tell you about her one day – soon,_ she promises silently, as she looks back into Lincoln’s eyes, watching the flash of alarm melt away as she shakes her head and smiles. She closes her eyes when he’s kissing her hair, and something about that simple touch makes her feel protected, like nothing bad can ever happen to either of them.

The sky is turning to steel above their heads, dark and impenetrable. Octavia listens to the quiet wailing of the little bird as Lincoln takes her hand, leading her to a narrow path between the trees.

“Do you think it’s saying goodbye to us?” she asks, looking up to meet his gaze.

He smiles in response. “Do you?”

“I know it sounds weird but I... I think it likes me.”

It’s hard to see his face now that they’re making their way through the darkening forest but his voice sounds almost amused when he speaks.

“I’ve never seen a gray jay come that close to a human before. Or a flock of ezur lai.”

“What’s ezur lai?”

“The blue butterflies. They’re usually shy, hard to even spot, let alone touch.”

It takes her a heartbeat to realize what it is he just said; she stops in her tracks, staring at him in disbelief.

“How do you know about that?”

“I saw you there in the forest,” he explains, hesitating for a second. “I was watching you, your whole camp, since the day you landed here.”

She cannot quite hold that little gasp of shock, although it’s really not that surprising – her people were _enemies_ to him, invaders on the Earth; it made sense that they would watch their every move.

“Guess you’d be dumb not to,” she admits with a sigh. “So what did you see – beside crazy butterflies and a bunch of frightened kids playing tough?”

“You were not frightened,” he says, and she knows they are not talking about her people anymore. There is a strange edge to his voice, some sort of quiet pride – and something else, hidden, unspoken, bubbling below the surface like a flock of startled ezur lai.

She wonders why it feels so right to hold this stranger’s hand like she’s known him her entire life.

“So why do you think that is?” she asks finally, trying to shake off the distracting thought. “The bird and the butterflies? Why do they come so close to me?”

Unexpected, his laughter raises goose bumps on her skin; it sounds almost rusty, like he has not laughed for a very long time.

“What?” she asks, startled but somewhat excited; she has never heard him laugh like that before.

“South from here, the Lake people have stories about _salki_ , forest spirits born in shape of human children with pale skin and silver eyes, so strange to human eyes that they are cast out and left to die in the woods.”

Octavia feels a tiny chill go down her spine.

“And do they? Die in the woods?”

“No. The forest takes them in, protecting them, helping them survive.”

He stops, crouching to inspect what looks like a footprint in the grass. Octavia wonders silently if the Grounders have a tribal law forbidding them to speak more than two sentences in a row. “And then?” she presses.

He smiles, looking up at her. “Then they grow up, lovelier than the sun, and never stop asking questions.”

Octavia giggles. “So, are you saying I am one? A forest spirit?

“I thought about it when I first saw you,” he says, rising back to his feet, and she’s still not sure if he’s being serious. “But they’re just stories. Lies.”

They walk in silence, then, and she wonders what could have inspired the strange beliefs, and if there really was such thing as children with silver eyes on the ground. Persephone had silver eyes, she recalls, the dark-haired, pale-skinned queen of underworld, a whole-page illustration in her favorite children’s book of tales. She always liked Persephone best because they were so similar, both locked up in dark places with no hope of sunlight.

She does not pay attention to her surroundings until the path opens into a familiar spot scattered with birch trees, “the drop ship outskirts” as she has secretly named it. She knows they are too close to the camp now; she holds her breath, listening for human voices in the air, but the forest only buzzes with its own secret life.

“I better go alone from here,” she whispers, suddenly feeling nervous about these final moments they have together, like they could somehow decide their fate.

Lincoln nods, pulling her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. And she feels an irrational urge to never let go of him, never let go of his warmth, the beautiful play of muscles under his skin – pain turned into strength, the shape of life how it’s supposed to be.

A single azure butterfly lands on her shoulder, rustling its wings against her hair.

“I guess they can’t help themselves,” he whispers, and his breath tickles the bared skin of her throat.

_Sort of how we can’t._

But this is Earth, half-reborn to wilderness, and maybe they don’t have to.


End file.
